What’s the worst that could happen? I thought….

It started innocently enough, as these things often do. The corridors of the law firm were always alive with the rustle of papers, the click of heels on polished floors, and the hushed murmurs of ambition.
Joseph was just another face in the crowd— with nervous energy and a hesitant smile. At first, I barely noticed him. He wasn’t the kind of guy who turned heads or commanded a room. But life, with its strange sense of humor, had other plans.

Our first real encounter wasn’t exactly a fairy tale. I’d spilled coffee on a case file, and he happened to be there, offering napkins from a nearby desk. “Rough morning?” he asked, his tone soft, almost apologetic. I nodded, mumbling thanks. It was a fleeting moment, quickly forgotten in the whirlwind of deadlines.

Weeks passed, and we crossed paths again—this time outside work. I was juggling groceries at the gate of my apartment complex when a familiar voice called out. “Need a hand?” There he was, Joseph, living not just in my orbit but apparently in my neighborhood.

“Oh my God, you live here?” I asked, half-laughing. He nodded. “Small world, huh?”

What happened next felt like the universe playing a trick. That same evening, he texted, asking if he could come over for tea. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the reply button. But curiosity and boredom won. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I thought. Famous last words.

The tea turned into long conversations, then into something more. We became… entangled. It wasn’t love, not even close, but there was a spark—enough to keep us coming back to each other. It felt forbidden, thrilling even, but it also felt wrong. Joseph didn’t make grand gestures or whisper sweet nothings. He wasn’t romantic or attentive. He was just there, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I let him stay.

Two months into this situationship, as I now call it, a new character entered the scene. David. He was everything Joseph wasn’t—eloquent, confident, and, most importantly, interested in me. We met at work, and the connection was instant. He asked me out to lunch at a local kibandaski, and I loved the simplicity of it. No pretense, no games.

But as I sat across from David, laughing at his stories and admiring his easy charm, a nagging thought crept in. What about Joseph? It was absurd. Joseph wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t even close to being a serious contender. Yet, I felt guilty, as though I were betraying him.

The guilt festered, and before I knew it, I was pushing David away. I didn’t have the heart to explain why. How could I? “I’m stuck in a casual fling with an ungrateful one who doesn’t even text me unless it’s convenient for him”? That would have sounded as ridiculous as it felt.

So I let David go, and I stayed with Joseph. But the thrill was gone. What had once felt exciting now felt like a chore. I’d fallen into a routine that drained me, yet I couldn’t seem to break free.

One evening, as we sat on my couch in silence, I finally asked the question that had been haunting me. “Joseph, if we stopped… you know… the casual stuff, would we still be friends?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Sure,” he said, too casually. But something in his tone felt off, like a door being closed behind me.

The next morning, I woke up to find he had blocked me—on everything. Social media, messaging apps, even his number. He didn’t even have the decency to explain. Just like that, he erased me from his life.

At first, I was angry. How dare he? After all the time I’d given him, the emotional toll it had taken, he discarded me like yesterday’s news. But anger soon gave way to something else: clarity.

Joseph wasn’t just ungrateful. He was a mirror, reflecting my own insecurities back at me. I’d clung to him because I didn’t believe I deserved better. I’d settled for crumbs when I could have had the whole feast.

Looking back, I see Joseph for what he was: a lesson. A painful, necessary reminder that self-worth isn’t something you negotiate. It’s something you claim, unapologetically.

So, to anyone reading this, remember: if someone doesn’t value your time, your energy, or your heart, they don’t deserve a place in your story. And as for Joseph? He’ll be just another footnote in mine.